Sickness and Hobbits
by Kvetching Canoodle
Summary: Sam gets sick after Lucifer brings him back to life again. Dean takes care of him like any good brother should. Featuring sick!Sam and caring!Dean. Season five.


I honestly have no excuse for this story. I've just had a really hard week and needed some fluff. Somehow that ended up as wincest fluff.

Takes place in season five some point after "The Dark Side of the Moon" but before "99 Problems."

Also insinuates that the whole voicemail thing was resolved.

Disclaimer: not mine.

.

"Sickness and Hobbits"

After that horrible trip down the afterlife's memory lane, Dean's pretty pissed. Then he finds out exactly how badly Zachariah decided fuck with them (again) and instead ends up immediately guilty for throwing away the amulet. He'd wanted to hurt Sam when he did it, emotionally drained and steadily giving up hope, but finding out his brother's actual favorite memory was the time Dean taught him how to read with a stolen _Chronicles of Narnia _book pretty much trashed that feeling. Now all he really wants is to kill that winged dick and get this over with. He even plans on doing a search on the side, but that idea is immediately shot down.

Because Sam gets sick. Really, really sick.

Apparently Lucifer must be tired of bringing him back for the eleventh time (and finding out about the suicide attempts before they met up again still freaks him out) because he comes back to life with the flu. Not Pestilence's swine flu, but some stupid stomach strain neither of them have gotten since they were kids. They stop in some hotel in Texas with fever reducers, ginger ale, and anti-congestion meds. The woman behind the counter at the CVS looks at him with complete sympathy.

"So who's sick for you?" she asks, ringing up his Sammy Sickness kit.

"My little brother," he answers because there's not reason to lie. "At least it's not swine flu."

She puts the purchases in the bag. "My sister has that," she tells him. "Trust me, you're lucky."

Lucky. Yeah, real lucky that his brother only has the normal flu because Lucifer wants him to stay alive for once. He wonders what Michael would do if he tried to kill himself that many times. Nothing pretty, he imagines. Maybe more fourth stage stomach cancer. "I'll take your word for it," he says and accepts the bag, heading out the automatic doors.

Sam's where he left him, in the bed furthest from the door because he insisted on not getting only one in case he gets Dean sick too. Honestly he doesn't think it'll work that way since this is an angelic-created illness, but he doesn't argue. His brother's got a high body temperature on an average day and the fever's only making it worse.

"Hey, Dean," he mumbles as he puts the bag down on his end table, rubbing one eye. "Please tell me you got Advil or something."

He takes out the container. "Aleeve," he says. "Even better. Here -" He removes two pills and opens the soda bottle. "- take these with the ginger ale."

After he forces himself to sit up, Sam does as ordered. His eyes appear glassy and he's hot but not sweating. "Thanks," he says, putting the bottle next to the turned off lamp. He looks awful, sicker than Dean's seen in years. Being exposed to pretty much everything possible has made both of them have mostly good immune systems. Most hunters do. "I can't sleep."

Yeah, he was afraid of that. Most people get sick and sleep all the time; Sammy gets violently ill and suddenly gets worse insomnia than usual unless they get something with a drowsiness side effect in it. "I've got decongestant, too," he tells him, taking out another two pills. "This might help."

He swallows those down too, no argument. Moments like this make it hard to remember why he got mad in the first place. A sick little brother reminds him of when they were kids and he'd take off from school too, spending the day alternating between dragging Sam into the bathroom to save the bed or floor and reading to him to calm him down. Now he's nearly twenty-seven so Dean doesn't really think that'll work anymore.

"Thanks," Sam says and he unconsciously runs his fingers through his little brother's hair, something that always calms the kid down.

Eventually his brother does end up drifting off, the meds doing their job, leaving him alone to perch on the side of the bed, hovering. When he'd found out about Zachariah fucking everything up, he'd planned on at least _attempting _to make up for this whole mess with a few rounds of really awesome sex. They'd finally hooked up again after that disaster with the witch and things have been relatively okay. Watching over a sleeping Sammy wasn't exactly how he imagined spending the rest of the day.

Fucking Satan.

For a while Sam just sort of sleeps, showing no signs of nightmares or waking up, so Dean decides to be productive and starts looking for where Walt and Roy are. He'd be pretty pissed about getting offed in general, but killing his brother too? Yeah, he's not one for cold blooded murder, but he figures they killed them first so it's just the natural order of things. The only thing that possibly could've made this situation worse was if the assholes messed with his baby, but the Impala had been in the parking lot where he left it, completely unharmed.

Around eleven, his brother starts twitching and mumbles "go away" in his sleep. With a sigh, Dean leans over and shakes his shoulder, knowing six hours is as good as they're going to get for now. Sam's too tired to shoot awake, so he comes back to consciousness blinking slowly, taking in his surroundings. He sniffles and says, "How long was I out?"

"Long enough," he answers, shutting the computer. "Still feel like shit?"

Sam nods. "Better, though," he adds and his voice is hoarse for all that coughing earlier. The throwing up probably hadn't helped. "How long do you think this is going to last?"

Dean shrugs. "I'm not really sure how angel flu works," he says. "You should drink something."

Again, Sam nods and takes the ginger ale off the end table, hands shaking a little. He's drained of color but flushed from the fever at the same time and Dean knows that if this keeps up for any longer than two days, he's going to drop a lot of weight. It's a pretty common side effect of not being able to keep anything down. "I don't want to go back to sleep," Sam says and drinks a few sips before putting it down. "Can we watch a movie or something?"

"Yeah, sure," he says and grabs the remote from his bed. He wants to tell Sam that he found Walt and Roy but his brother seems on his way to delusional right now so that probably isn't such a good idea. Besides, knowing Sam, he'll just say to leave them alone because he deserved it and add some bullshit about how it would've been better if he stayed dead.

Okay, definitely not mentioning it then.

As he forces his brother to scoot over so he can join him on the bed, Sam asks, "What're you doing?"

"Sitting with you," he says. "View's not as good from my side."

"You aren't very good at making excuses." Regardless, he presses against his side, the same type of _big brother take care of me my tummy hurts _reaction he's had since he was six months old. He's burning up and if he gets an hotter, Dean might have to bring him to an actual hospital. Then he remembers this can in no way kill or permanently damage his brother, which is both relaxing and horrifying. "Channel surf?"

He pulls the covers up a little higher, having to wiggle so they don't get caught under his legs. "Yeah," he answers but doesn't for long. Almost immediately they come across _Fellowship of the Rings_ just starting, one of the few things they can total agree on. Others include Vonnegut, the _Harry Potter _books they both pretend not to read, and the fact that there is a difference between cuddling and being close together. And they don't cuddle. Except when they do.

Around the time the hobbits reach Bree, Sam takes another round of meds. Half an hour later, he drifts off again, fever slightly lowered and sniffling less. He hasn't thrown up in nearly twelve hours. Dean's arm slips around his middle at one point and eventually he falls asleep too, lulled by his brother's quiet breathing.

.

Short little fluff of sick!Sam. Hope you at least somewhat enjoyed. :)


End file.
